


The Parting Glass

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: American Revolution RPF, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Historical, American Revolution AU, BAMF May Parker (Spider-Man), F/M, Farmboy Peter Parker, Gen, General Tony Stark, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kid Peter Parker, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trigger Warning for war, dad tony, dad tony stark, son peter, trigger warning for blood, trigger warning for death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: When a young Peter Parker looses his family farm to the excessive taxation by the British, he doesn't have a lot of people to turn to for help. With May busy trying to handle the burden of the hole left behind by the death of Ben, Peter takes it upon himself to get them the money they need to get their home back.By enlisting himself into the Continental Army.There, Peter meets cocky General Anthony "Iron Man" Stark, a man hanging by his last string of hope. A man, who by all titles, should not be as protective of this boy who has wondered into his camp; should not let the kid's innocent eyes and striking genius begin to thaw the ice around his heart.But he does and Tony honestly isn't sure what to think anymore.Together, they begin to forge the path to freedom for both themselves and the nation as a whole.





	The Parting Glass

**Author's Note:**

> ITS HERE ITS HERE ITS HEREEEEEEE *dances* I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter and don't worry, the next chapter will be much more exciting and way longer hahah 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials and take all the credit for any historical inaccuracies found throughout this story (because there definitely is some).

_"But since it falls unto my lot,_  
_That I should rise and you should not,_  
_I gently rise and softly call,_  
_Good night and joy be with you all."_

                                                  -- The Parting Glass (Liam Clancy)

* * *

 

The cannon balls seem to rise up as high as the sun, streaming across the sky in a haze of smoke and flames.

 

 

They slam into the sides of buildings, demolishing anything in their path. The hoarse screams of the men float up above the battlefield, the sound of gunfire starting up again just as the clouds finally break, spilling rain onto the already muddy land. A bolt of lightning snaps the air in half, the hot flash of light illuminating the stretch of the trenches.

 

 

Men sit, their clothes rags and their faces hollow. Old guns are at their sides, caverns of rusted metal and splintering wood, blood stained and rotting as they crouch in the water. Each man flinches at every strike of lightning, the whites of their eyes glowing as they all glance up and around, their gazes coming to rest on him as though drawn like a moth to a flame.

 

 

They look at him like they expect him to rise up with the graces of God and smite all in their path.

 

 

Sometimes he even suspects they see him as a God.

 

 

“Hustle up, boys!” He suddenly shouts, his voice straining to rise up above the crash of cannons. “We can’t give up just yet. Attack!”

 

 

But General Anthony “Iron Man” Stark has already started to give up. And it’s gonna take a hell of a miracle to get him back into the fight again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Peter, it’s time for supper!”

 

 

Looking up from the bucket of dirty water sitting at his knees, the boy quickly throws down his brown stained towel as the voice of his aunt echos through their small barn. Patting the horse he had just finished cleaning on the side, the fifteen-year-old takes a second to stretch.

 

 

“Just a second, Aunt May!” He shouts back, quickly wiping away the dirt that stains his hands as he straightens back up.

 

 

Tossing the rag back into the bucket, Peter walks quickly out of the building, blinking in the golden light of the setting sun. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, the boy shuffles down the dirt path to their small house, listening as the wind rustles the grasses around the yard. It was mid-August and Peter kicks a few stray leaves from the rocks, the vivd reds and yellows seemingly out of place on the rundown farm.

 

 

He makes it to the front porch just as May pokes her head outside, her chestnut hair falling out of her bonnet. Putting her hands on her hips, her blue dress ruffling in the breeze, the woman gives the boy a stern glare as he tries to walk past her.

 

 

“Do not even think about coming into this house without washing your dirty hands off, Peter Benjamin Parker.” She says, shaking a finger at her nephew when all he does is groan.

 

 

“But that’s such a far walk, Aunt May.” He complains and his aunt just raises an eyebrow. “And I’m gutfoundered*”

 

 

“You better start walking then, honey.”

 

 

Peter sighs. “Yes ma’am.”

 

 

Turning back around when May gives him one last look, Peter scrambles off the porch and over to their small well, dipping his hands into the cold water at the top and shivering as it drips down his arms. He stares down at his reflection in the water, watching as it ripples out in little waves that lap at the sides.

 

 

_“See these, Pete?”_

 

 

His Uncle Ben’s voice is so sudden and vivid that it takes Peter’s breath away. He suddenly remembers being a young boy, no more than three or four-years-old, standing on his tip-toes to see into the pot of water Ben was using to clean his gun.

 

 

“ _See what, Uncle Ben?_ ” He had asked, his voice high and squeaky with youth.

 

 

“ _The ripples, son. You see how they spread out from the center?_ ” Peter remembers how his Uncle’s large hands, the hands of a man who worked in the fields his whole life, had dipped into the water with the grace of a bird. “ _From the inside to the outside?_ ” 

 

 

Peter had nodded, his curls bouncing. He hadn’t understood what the man was saying, not really, just remembered enjoying the sound of his deep voice and the way his blue eyes had twinkled.

 

 

_“Just remember, Peter, if you forget everything else I ever say, remember this: It’s up to you to create those ripples, because done right, they can turn the whole sea around.”_

 

 

Peter recalls the way his Uncle had reached over to ruffle his hair, splashing Peter’s face with droplets of water, causing him to giggle. Ben had laughed as well, his chest rattling and his shoulder’s shaking, his smile bright in the afternoon sun.

 

 

That was the last time Peter saw Ben laugh.

 

 

Or breathe.

 

 

His Uncle was shot a few weeks later, when he was forced to go into the army and fight the French as they attempted to steal the Ohio River Valley. They had gotten the news by horseback a few days after the battle, a sympathetic delivery boy dropping off the yellow colored letter into an already sobbing May Parker’s hands.

 

 

After that, things had started to slowly go down hill.

 

 

Peter started to spend most of his days in the field, plowing and planting seeds and only attending school a few days a week at most, if not at all. May begins to walk door to door down at the upper class square, doing laundry for any person with enough sympathy to open their door. They barely managed to squeeze through taxes for a couple months, almost losing their whole farm when a massive snow storm covered the dirt in a blanket of white, their crops freezing and their animals dying one by one.

 

 

To be honest, Peter isn’t really sure how him and May even survived.

 

 

The following February, a good three years after Uncle Ben’s death, the war finally ended. May and Peter watched with heavy hearts and bitter smiles on their faces as men marched home, their clothes and skin smeared with blood and dirt, their limbs shaking and eyes as haunted as a winter night.

 

 

Peter could see Ben in each of them, could look up at their ragged faces and see the same weary sadness Ben had tried to hide behind his sunny smiles.

 

 

The sudden sound of hooves against stone catches Peter’s attention and he is ripped from his thoughts, startling a little as he spins around. Drops of water drip from his hands, dotting the grass.

 

 

A middle aged man, a neat hat atop his head and his hair a windswept blonde, sits on a large horse. On his chest, the symbol for the local tax collector sits, and Peter can feel his mouth go dry. The man tips his hat when he finally slows down to a stop a few feet from Peter.

 

 

“Good evening, son.” He says, his tone a touch too formal to be just a pleasant visit. 

 

 

Peter narrows his eyes. “Hello, sir.”

 

 

The man clears his throat, clearly expecting Peter to say more, but when all the boy does is shift on his feet, he continues. “Is the Madam currently available?”

 

 

“Why, yes sir.” Peter answers, nodding and taking small step backwards when the man moves closer. “Any reason for your query?”

 

 

The toe-headed man gives a small laugh. “No such reason that I can share with you, I’m afraid.”

 

 

Peter swallows down a snippy remark, instead schooling his featuring into a look of contented curiosity. The tax collector straightens out his coat after a few more seconds of awkward chuckling, already beginning to re-mount his horse.

 

 

“Lead the way, lad. I must speak with the Madam and it is already becoming dusk, no time to waste.”

 

 

Peter wipes his hands on his shirt, feeling his heart begin to beat faster as, without a word, he turns around and begins to walk back toward the house, listening as the man and his horse follow slowly behind him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Both the teenager and the tax collector enter the house just as May is setting the table.

 

 

“Peter?” His aunt’s voice is slightly breathless as she walks out of the kitchen. “Who is this gentleman you have with you?”

 

 

The toe-headed man gives a small bow as he nears her, reaching out to grasp May’s hand and place a small kiss against her knuckles. May, for her part, only forces a smile, doing a small curtsy of her own as she shoots Peter a stare.

 

 

“Madam, my name is James Ragsburn.” The man says once both him and May straighten back up. “I am here on account of the money you owe for your acre of land?”

 

 

May swallows, face paling slightly. “Oh, yes. You were the kind gentleman who sent that letter from the bank a few weeks ago.”

 

 

James nods. “Yes and we were very—“ At this, the man grimaces slightly, his smile growing more apologetic. “— _displeased_ when we heard back that you were unable to pay the fee.”

 

 

Peter opens his mouth to report back but a swift glare from his aunt has his snapping it shut, swallowing down his anger as he steps back.

 

 

May’s face goes hard, her smile getting tight as she leads James over to the small couch. “Would you like some hot water, Mr. Ragsburn? I would offer you tea but with the taxes right now, it’s sort of hard to come by.”

 

 

The man sniffs as he sits down. “No thank you, Madam, I’m fine.”

 

 

Peter awkwardly shifts to the side, grabbing the kettle from the kitchen when May shoots his a look and begins to fill up the cup he grabs on the way. Setting the steaming water on the small table near James’s feet, Peter resists the urge to pour it all over the man’s shiny black boots. James looks down at Peter with annoyance clear in his eyes.

 

 

“What I would like,” James continues as soon as he has shooed away Peter with a wave of his hand. “Is for you to pay the 800 shillings you owe. We have given you a plunder of grace periods, Mrs. Parker—“

 

 

“Just one more week, Mr. Ragsburn.” May cuts the man off, her face pale and her hands shaking. “Just one more week and I swear we will have your money. With my husband gone, it’s just-just been so hard. . .”

 

 

James makes a move as if to grab May’s hand, but seems to think better of it when Peter steps closer. “I’m afraid we cannot allow that, Madam. You either hand over the money this evening or we will be forced by King George III to confiscate your land.”

 

 

Peter feels his heart stop as he hears May let out a sharp gasp, as though someone had pulled all the air from her lungs. The boy reaches out, his own hand trembling and rests it on his aunt’s shoulder, glaring at the tax collector as the man swallows down a sip of hot water.

 

 

“We don’t have the money.” May’s voice is almost silent, and Peter grits his teeth against the pain he can hear crawl up her throat.

 

 

“Pardon?”

 

 

“You heard me, Mr. Ragsburn.” May glares at the man, not caring how James scoffs. “We don’t have your money.”

 

 

For the first time all evening, the blonde seems at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes like a fish Ben would catch from the lake a few miles down the road, and Peter fights down a bitter laugh.

 

 

“Well,” James finally says, standing up and straightening his jacket. “In that case, I shall be back in a moment. In contract with the Quartering Act, it is legally required of you, Mrs. Parker, since you are unable to pay the necessary taxes on your land, that you house British Army officers in your place of establishment until you pay off your dept. Do you understand and consent to this?”

 

 

May laughs, face pained, her smile a little bit broken. “It doesn’t matter if I bloody consent or not, does it?”

 

 

James allowed himself to be led over to the door, Peter’s grip on his arm a little too tight to be friendly. “No ma’am, I suppose not.”

 

 

Finally, they all make it back onto the porch, the sun having already set and the yard around them is shrouded in shadows. The air is cool against Peter’s still burning face and he briefly closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. James suddenly shoves past him, his shoulder hitting against Peter’s arm and the boy is shaken from his small escape.

 

 

“Excuse me, lad.”

 

 

Peter had never hated anyone more.

 

 

The man gets onto his horse, looking back at the two Parkers still standing on the porch. He tips his hat and quickly lights a lantern from a compartment on the saddle. His face is haloed by the orange light, the whites of his eyes flickering. He raises on hand, shouting a quick “Be back in a small bit. Stay there and the Officers will be arriving shortly.” before he turns around and races down the stone path.

 

 

“What are we going to do, Aunt May?” Peter asks, feeling his aunt’s arms wrap around his shoulders as she pulls him closer.

 

 

May’s voice is clogged with emotion, but her face is set when the boy glances up at her. “I don’t know, baby. I really don’t know.”

 

 

Together, they watch the stars begin to gather in the sky, the silver light glistening like tears.

 

 

Silently, Peter begins to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Kudos make my day and comments fuel my writing!


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